


Know You Now

by tilda



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilda/pseuds/tilda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of the time it’s fine. Nick’s quite well-known, and Harry’s super-famous, they get recognised and stopped and asked for autographs (well, Harry does) and asked questions by random strangers and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t fucking love that shit quite a lot of the time. He does. It’s just sometimes he wishes he was normal. Or that Harry was normal. Or that he hadn’t fallen for Harry quite as hard as he has (because he has) because it just makes his life that tiny bit more difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know You Now

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [this picture](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mad3m50sQo1qadswk.jpg).
> 
> Rating is for language.

Nick can feel the moulded plastic of the steering wheel digging into his bare knees as he waits for the girls to finish taking their pictures. They're okay this time and Harry is patient. They giggle and can't stop smiling, yeah, but they also seem to realise that Harry is a person, which is… good. Nick tries not to judge. 

After all, eight months ago he'd been babbling 'I met Harry _Styles_!' like he was a starstruck intern being asked if he got to meet any famous people in his job, instead of a National BBC Radio 1 DJ who regularly got papped falling out of west end clubs with platinum-selling RnB artistes, as well as (ooh, _eclectic_ ) achingly cool new indie acts in Dalston.

He can hear Harry winding things up, raising his hand in goodbye, so Nick drops his knees and settles his feet on the gas and clutch, ready for the getaway. Harry rolls up the window finally and Nick is moving the car away from the kerb, checking for traffic in the rearview. There is none - it's Primrose Hill on a Sunday morning when everyone's either having that last ill-advised shot or they're already dead to the world. He'd left the engine idling as a practical aid to escape, but also as a suggestion - just a suggestion - to the fans that they weren't hanging around. Harry's train's in half an hour.

Harry sits back in his seat and releases an imperceptible breath. Nick doesn't say anything for once. Normally he'd be royally taking the piss - Harry the _real live popstar_ etc - and making him giggle shyly and all that, but they were both still only half awake and not up for this shit yet. It had been an ambush. They should have expected it, but it was an ambush nonetheless. Spanish Inquisition etc. 

'Sorry,' says Harry eventually. 

'What, for being a popstar?' Nick flips back, but with a rueful little half-smile to show he's not pissed off. 

Harry slumps further in his seat, splays his legs wider, the tart, and goes, 'Yeah, actually.'

'Don't fuckin' lie.' 

Nick looks straight ahead at Chalk Farm Road, driving, keeping an eye out for traffic. But it's a crappy excuse to not look at Harry. There are no other cars about; it's too early for the market, even. He could have safely kept one hand on the wheel and the other way too far up Harry's inner thigh while gazing at his profile (which _still_ makes Nick weak) all the way to the station, and the car wouldn't have sustained a scratch. A _scratch_. He knows; he's done it.

But Nick's turning into Hawley Road (and as they pass the Arms, he thinks _Amy_ without thinking, knows he'll always think of her when he makes this turn, forever, until he dies) staring straight ahead, with both hands on the wheel because he _is_ sort of pissed off. And the thing is, the bastard of it is, it's not Harry's fault, so he shouldn't even be being a cunt about this. But he is. Sometimes he can't help it. This Euston train is insanely early, and Nick wants to whine ' _why_ ' but he won't because he understands family. Harry's going away Monday and it'll be the last time he sees them for months and he's just got to, not only for their sake, but for his. Nick gets it, he does. 

It's just. 

And he's aware that Harry's now curled up in the passenger seat, back to the door, ostensibly sleeping, but the eyelash flutter shows that he's quietly awake and, despite all Nick's hands-off vibes, is pointing himself towards Nick. The fucker. 

It's just. 

Sometimes he gets pissed off. 

Most of the time it's fine. Nick's quite well-known, and Harry's super-famous, they get recognised and stopped and asked for autographs (well, Harry does) and asked questions by random strangers and he'd be lying if he said he didn't fucking _love_ that shit quite a lot of the time. He does. It's just sometimes he wishes he was normal. Or that Harry was normal. Or that he hadn't fallen for Harry quite as hard as he has (because he has) because it just makes his life that tiny bit more difficult.

They're past Koko now, and he's done the complicated little zig-zag thing that takes him onto Eversholt Street, and they don't have much time left.

'Nearly there,' he says, even though he knows Harry knows. Harry makes waking up noises but doesn't open his eyes and Nick realises he hasn't looked at the road for a while and veers back to the right side of the centre-line. ( _Fine_ , he tells his heartbeat, it's all _fine_. No traffic, no harm done). 

Then he's pulling into the station carpark. He feels horrible. There's nothing he can do. Harry's stirring himself, readjusting his beanie, reaching for the bag at his feet. Nick can see a small group of girls milling about on the concourse trying to look inconcspicuous and he wonders for the bajillionth time 'How do they fucking _know_? Is it some special fangirl spidey sense or what?' As if in response the girls turn and seem to sense their presence. 

And then he becomes aware of Harry looking at him. 

He's looming in the small space of the car, one hand propped on the headrest and Nick suddenly feels very much like _the girl_. He should move, make a stupid joke, push Harry out, something, but he doesn't. Then Harry murmurs 'This is bollocks,' and lunges forward to press his mouth firmly against Nick's. 

This is new. They've snuck public kisses before, but only when they're 99.9% sure they'll be unobserved, in toilets, down alleyways. Not in the carparks of National Rail interchanges. 

But seemingly it doesn't matter, because Nick takes his hand off the steering wheel to rest it against Harry's cheek, because it's what he always does when they kiss. He becomes dimly aware of high-pitched cries coming from the station concourse, and after that, of the amount of phone calls he's going to have to field later today when the pictures hit the internet, and after _that_ , of tomorrow's page 2 headlines. 

Right now though? He doesn't give a shit. 

Harry squeaks at one point and Nick realises he's maybe pulling his hair a little and loosens his grip and they separate. Harry beams wide at him, open, like he's just pulled the most brilliant prank, but also like he's just got a platinum record.

'I'll see you later,' he says. 

Nick beams back at him.

'Yeah,' he says. 'You will.'

He watches as Paul (who'd been following in the car behind) joins Harry and they cross to the platforms and trains. The girls follow in a half-hearted group, several of them lagging, more interested in their phones than Harry (the _actual popstar_ ) right there in front of them. Nick watches until Harry's disappeared through the ticket barrier. Then he notices the girls, now bored, looking around and clocking him, and he puts the car in reverse, sharpish. 

He cruises up Camden High Street, trashed after a rainy Saturday night. Maybe it'll work itself out, he thinks. Maybe it'll all come out in the wash. 

'Worse things happen at sea,' he can hear Harry responding, and he misses him with a hollow ache already, but he smiles all the way home.

 


End file.
